I left the Director's office immediately, my mind whirring. I was almost positive that we had reached the eve of the rankings being posted, and I still had no idea what the Director was planning, or even if it were illegal. Out of the very few clues Hale and I had of Dr. Church's suspicious activity, the most prominent was the fact that he had cut me off from Hale by switching the radios.

Besides that, I had nothing. As the rankings approached, closer than ever, I couldn't help but feel that I should have come farther in my investigation. Shouldn't I know by now why the Director hadn't started sending the Freelancers out on real missions to help win the war?

As I sat at my desk back in my room, in sweats and a tank top, my papers spread out, something occurred to me. The Director never told me if these "new" missions were for training or real purposes. I supposed I just needed to wait. Ugh. I hated waiting.

I groaned as another small pile of papers fluttered from my desk to the ground like wounded birds. I just couldn't organize them properly here. The miniature desk in my room was far too small to hold all the pages of combat notes, statistical analyses, and charts marking each soldier's performance. I was feeling claustrophobic. I needed to spread out.

I grabbed my papers in both arms along with a desk lamp and tiptoed carefully down the silent hallway. I heard snores coming from the different rooms; I think Maine's were the loudest. I could hear him as I moved to the next hallway over.

I reached the mess hall, praying the doors were unlocked. I shoved against the doorway, and, thankfully, it gave. Reaching the first table, I released my papers, and many of them fell to the ground again.

Sighing, I picked them up and turned on the desk lamp. After double-checking that all the reports were present, I began to sort my piles according to Freelancer. My eyelids slowly drooped as I continued the tedious organizing, but I couldn't fall asleep now. The Director needed my compilation early.

Suddenly, I heard a loud crash from behind me and started, spinning around.

"Wash!"

The gray-and-yellow-clothed soldier was standing in the doorway of the kitchen picking up a large plastic tub and a spoon.

"Wash?" I repeated. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Eleven," he said, his snarky tone tinged with surprise. He approached the table and plopped down on the seat beside me, looking down at my papers. "What are you doing down here?"

I knew I shouldn't show the Freelancer my performance reviews, but it wasn't like he didn't know all this information already. "Just sorting through all of your stats. My room's desk wasn't big enough to fit all the papers. I'm guessing you're not doing work?" I asked, gesturing to his bucket.

"Oh, I'm hard at work, all right," Wash chuckled, holding the bucket and spoon out to me. "The chefs hoard the cookie dough like it's gold, so the only way to get any is to sneak it at night. Want some?"

I laughed, taking the spoon and scooping a good-sized chunk of dough into my mouth. "Thanks."

Wash peered at my face closely in the lamplight. "You look tired, Eleven."

I stifled a yawn and smiled. "Yeah, because you look so well-rested too."

"Mmm. Touché."

I turned back to my papers and he watched me, eating the cookie dough as if it were pudding. "Why don't you let me help?" he asked suddenly, placing his bucket to the side. "I could help this go faster."

"No, no, I couldn't possibly…" I responded, yawning as I did so. "I wouldn't want to make you work."

"Come on. With me it'll go twice as fast."

Before I could protest, he grabbed some of Oklahoma's papers and started a new pile. "It's not so hard, Eleven. Once we're done you'll feel so much better."

We worked together silently, and it really didn't take much time for us to finish. Once all the papers were lined in a neat stack, Wash spooned cookie dough into his mouth and watched as I compiled the statistics into a neat little list just as the Director had asked. When I was done, I laid my head down on the table, exhausted.

"Time to sleep."

Wash laughed. "Come on, Eleven, not here."

"I don't care. Too tired."

"It's not a long walk."

"I'll just stay. No big deal. Gotta turn these in soon anyway."

"Don't make me carry you. Then I'll drop all your papers on the way and you'll have to start all over."

I raised my head and rolled my eyes at his half smile. "First of all, you're too weak to carry me. Secondly, your threats suck. There is no way in hell I'm going to sort through all that again."

Wash smirked quietly as I straightened up and yawned, gathering the now neat stack of papers and the compilation in my hands. He took it from me, however.

"You're too tired to carry this." I opened my mouth, but he stopped me. "Don't argue. You're about to yawn right… now."

I yawned.

Wash laughed again. "Let's get this stuff to your room."

"They're not going to my room," I said. "I have to turn them in to the Director."

"Oh yeah. You go to the high-security levels for that."

"Thanks for the help, though. I can take it from here."

"Well, that's a shitload of stuff to carry. I can help."

"Wash, you can't go up to the Director's office."

"No, but I can go at least part of the way."

I raised an eyebrow. "Don't you want to go to bed?"

Wash shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I'd be happy to help."

I was actually really thankful he had decided to assist me in carrying all the papers. After Wash returned the cookie dough to the kitchen, we split the load and that made it easier to keep the observations orderly. Soon, we had reached the high-security levels and I took all the papers from him; it was much harder to balance it all neatly by myself.

After I had delivered the reports, I returned to the low-security levels, and, to my surprise, Wash was still standing there.
"I thought you had gone to bed," I commented, surprised. "Why'd you wait for me?"

He shrugged again, avoiding my gaze. "Guess if you want to be alone next time, you can just say so."

I laughed. "Don't worry, I don't think you're that repulsive."

"Oh, well that's a relief."

Once we were at the Freelancer residence hallway, I stopped before heading to my room.

"Thanks, Wash," I said to the Freelancer. "I appreciate the help."

"No problem. As long as you don't get me in trouble for stealing the cookie dough, we're all good."

"I can't make any promises," I replied cheekily. I looked up at him, expecting him to chuckle along with me, but he looked distracted.

"Wash, are you o—"

"Eleven?" he interrupted quickly, turning his gaze to me. He seemed agitated.

I frowned a little. "Yes?"

"You—you know… you never paid me back for dinner."

I blinked, nonplussed. "Uh… no, you're right. Are you going to let me do that now?"

He nodded, so I reached down to my armor belt, attempting to pull out money. However, he stopped me, placing his hand over my wrist.

"N—not like that," he replied nervously.

"Uh… how, then?"

He swallowed hard. "Like this."

He cupped his hands around my jawline, and, in one swift movement, he kissed me.

My body froze. Wash's lips were pressed against mine, and though my senses flared up in alarm… I didn't pull away.

Almost as soon as it had started, Wash broke the kiss. We both stared at each other, utterly bewildered.

"That was…" Wash gulped breathlessly. "That was completely against protocol."

I could hardly speak myself. "Y—yes. It was."

We gazed at each other for a moment, both our faces revealing a combination of nervousness, embarrassment, and shock.

Then, Wash set his jaw and seemed to make up his mind about something. I cocked my head, opening my mouth to ask him what he was thinking, but he cut me off and brought his lips to mine again.

He wrapped his hands around my waist and pulled me close, the kiss becoming more confident. Part of me screamed to get away—this was against the rules, I could get kicked out, the Director would discover it…

Then the second part of me shoved the first down a hole and told it to shut the hell up.

I didn't care.